Ashen Blood, Frozen Soul
by Winterborne
Summary: After surviving the streets of Riften, and ascending to the Jarl's Court; Drevas Llorethi thought he could handle the twists and turns of his adoptive homeland. Yet after being framed and exiled the Dunmer must discover his greater destiny and what it means to be a true Son of Skyrim. {REWRITE}}


Disclaimer: The Elder Scrolls universe is the property of Bethesda and ZeniMax.

Author's Note; So, Yeah this is a rework of the fic I posted last fall. The thought of just editing the original had occurred to me, but I feel it would be better with a clean sweep. I hope you all enjoy it, and I look forward to your feedback.

 **Chapter I Vu (Dawn)**

12th of Last Seed 4E 201

Like lightning Drevas shot up from his barracks bed, an oily sheen of fear covering dusky grey skin despite the cooling air of Last Seed. The Dunmer breathed in and out heavily, trying to soothe the burning in his lungs, running a hand through his rust toned hair as he slowly settled down.

"Just a dream…" The Dunmer muttered to himself, he had been having strange dreams for most of his life, but now they seemed to be coming with increased frequency and intensity, though this one was new and was easily the most surreal . As he swung his legs over the edge of mattress he heard the unmistakable clink of glass bottles knocking into each other. Reaching down Drevas retrieved one of the offending containers. His nose wrinkled, as he frowned in distaste at the empty skooma bottle. "Tch, Oh Mother..."

Drevas' amethyst gaze shifted over towards the other bed in the cramped room the Llorethi family called home. There lay an elder female dark elf, drooling in her passed-out stupor. The other Dunmer had long ago traded the real world for the shadows and nostalgia that the drug provided. Sighing the younger man decided to not to worry about waking her, as he slipped on his violet apprentice robes like a sheathe and exited into the halls of Haelga's Bunkhouse, which the two called home.

As he entered the common dining hall, he saw that just two fellow Dunmer, Brand-shei and Tythis, as well as the Bosmer, Ungrien, seemed to be up and having their breakfast. Drevas gave a formal wave at his fellow elves, before he sat down at the table further down. The relatively younger Dunmer wasn't in the mood for socializing yet this morning, as Svana quickly brought him the mornings breakfast; a porridge that wouldn't look out of place in the landscape of Hjaalmarch. He idly stirred his wooden spoon through the morass of oats and honey, missing the salacious wink Haelga sent his way.

Drevas blinked down at his meal, then blinked again. There staring the Dunmer straight it in the faces was what looked like runes, ones he had never seen before. They didn't fade away despite, the elfs attempt to clear his vision, infact he had seeming mindlessly made them when he was dragging his spoon through the porridge. Drevas swallowed heavily, _They're just mindless scribbles. They mean nothing!_ He mentally reassured himself, swiping his spoon through the strange letters in irritation. Having lost his appetite, he roughly pushed the bowl away and stood up, seat scraping as he stormed out of the building.

As Drevas stepped outside, the scents of Riften rose to greet him, fish and honey with a faint underlay of desperation and decay brought along by the breeze off of Lake Honrich, as vermillion and gold leaves glinted with morning frost. The streets of the city were filling up, as her citizens began to prepare for work. Drevas ensured that his coin purse was secured, and he kept a hand near his dagger as he began his daily pilgrimage to Mistveil Keep. He knew that the crowds would allow any of the city's many unsavory characters the perfect opportunity for some quick pick-pocketing, especially given his own childhood activites in the city. Pools of crimson scanned the pathways with suspicion, especially when they happened to fall upon an Argonian, half-forgotten childhood warnings about the Lizard-folk echoing through his skull. A particular hard brush nearly sent the mage careening onto the wooden planks, as a small body knocked into his side, only his merish reflexes saving him.

"What in the name of Talos?" Shaking his head to clear the dizziness, Drevas focused down the road a young boy was seen fleeing towards the north gate, with a couple of the hold's guard chasing after him. The elf thought he recognized the dark haired imperial boy as one of the poor souls of Honorhall Orphanage. Though his own familial relationship was complicated, and he sometimes saw himself in the children, Drevas was thankful both that his mother was alive and "around", and that he was well past the age the orphanage would take. Grelod's antics where an open secret amongst Riften's citizens, often discussed after a few bottles of Mead. _I wish you luck boy, though the wilds of Skyrim are no more homely._ The Dunmer thought, as he approached the remaining guards who were still in an uproar.

Eventually the Dunmer emerged from the storm of bumps and brushes, to the stone visage of the Jarl's fortress staring down. The citadel, having been built from the ashes after the rebellion against Jarl Hosgunn Crossed-Daggers, which was one of the dark elf's first memories. Drevas stepped up and nodded at the purple clad sentinels before pushing through the great doors of Mistveil Keep.

Jarl Laila was deep in conversation with her steward Anuriel, though bits and pieces of their discussion reverbed through the stone walls of the keep to Drevas, it seemed like another efforts in suppressing the Thieves Guild. Once, many would've scoffed at the notion, but the Dark Elf had to admit they had seemed quieter lately, and he quietly wondered what had happened to his former running-mates. Unmid stood casually down the steps from the throne, his posture beling the speed and strength he'd bring to bear should a threat to the Jarl's safety suddenly arise. Light glinting off his golden armor, the housecarl's eyes briefly shifted over to the newcomer in acknowledgment, the dark elf nodded at the warrior whom he had watched grow up. A murmured "Talos guide you." passed between the two as Drevas slipped into Wylandriah's study.

Distracted murmuring and the sound of objects being shuffled around was Drevas' greeting as he entered the room. The Wood Elf was bent over the arcane enchanter, moving something around that Drevas couldn't quite see beyond the robed form of his mentor, ribbons of blue magicka snaked outwards streaming around Wylandriah. Knowing better than to interrupt such delicate and precise research, Drevas began to futilely try tidy around the study, taking comfort in the monotony of the actions distracting him from his thoughts.

After what felt like an hour or two, Unmid rapped sharply on the door frame, his armoured gauntly rattling at the action. Drevas looked up, and seeing the uneasy sideways glance the house-carl the man required.

"Jarl Laila wishes for Saerlund to be treated." The blunt order greeted Drevas at the threshold, causing the Dunmer to blink, before he nodded in acquiescence.

"Alright, I'll let Master Wylandriah Know once, she's done her work on the construct." Unmid once again shifted his focus over to the wood elf, for a moment, before shaking his head, the nord's spiked hair flopping slightly with the motion.

"No the Jarl wants it done now. In fact he'll need to be treated more often, as we're expecting an important messenger in the next couple days."

Drevas frowned, lightly drumming his dark fingers on the wooden counter, before giving the warrior a slow nod. "Very well sera, I'll do it myself then, as I won't interrupt her work." The dark elf didn't wait for a response as he turned and knelt down to open up some of the counter cupboards. _Time for some old sleight of hand._ Drevas mused, with a hidden smirk as he rooted around, before pulling out a couple of his own concoctions, _Well this way if he gets hit by lightning he should be fine. Hopefully._ Schooling his features, as he pulled back, Drevas turned to face the house-carl. "Alright I'm ready."

Unmid surveyed the mage before turning, and starting to take quick strides away from the study, the short Dunmer having to hurry to keep up. Shortly they arrived at the room assigned to the Jarl's eldest son. After being waved in by Unmid, Drevas entered surveying the austere room, undecorated as a soldier's quarters, and the nord who sat within. Saerlund sat slouching on the bed, creasing his finery, a resigned scowl stood out prominently on his face.

"Alright, I will take of him from here, Unmid." The armored man, scowled in response to the apprentice mage's request, his jaw twitching as he wrestled with the idea before gruffly turning and exiting, his golden armour clank as he strode back to the main hall, barking at a could of hold guards to go back and cover the door. Smirking Drevas slowly shut the door, though he know that wouldn't necessarily be enough protection, especially in Riften.

"So how much longer are we going to continue this farce" Somewhat surprisingly it was Saerlund who spoke up first, breaking the room's quiet. Continuing before the apprentice wizard could a rebuttal in. "We all know I'm not possessed, or under some spell. My thinking is clear and my own, no matter what my mother wishes."

Pale lips twisted, as Drevas tried to think of a reasonable way to answer the rebellious former heir. "Perhaps, but in some situations perception is more important than reality." _There we go mother, some of your ramblings about court life did sink in after all._

"So I am forced to go through trials so Jarl Ulfric doesn't get his feelings hurt?" Saerlund popped the question, as he accepted to flask from Drevas, running one thumbs along the stopper's edge.

"So the Stormcloaks continue to believe that The Rift is a worthy ally, valuable to the cause. So It's worth protecting." The dark elf felt uneasy with the way the conversation was going. The few times he had assisted Wylandriah with this duty, or even done it himself the few times, Saerlund had been sullen and quiet. He didn't know where this question came from, and why it had to be now.

"Protection?" Laila's estranged son snorted mirthlessly. "What pray tell did we need protection from before Ulfric got this little rebellion in his head eh? No, what we need protection from, is that man's people especially" Saerlund placed the unopened flask down on the table, and fixed Drevas with a challenging stare.

The Dunmer swallowed heavily, tongue working around his suddenly dry mouth. He let out a little breath and sighed, eyes dark orbs coming to rest on the Nord. "I was born in the Imperial City you know." It wasn't a question. "I don't recall much, I was a young child when the city fell, and we left soon after to the escape the predations of the Thalmor." _Not much other than fear and ruin._ The Dunmer idelly noticed his hands shaking and tried to will himself still. His gaze intensified, the crimsons lens burning as the stared down Saerlund. "I know the protection the Empire provides its people. None. Be it from the wild armies of Black Marsh, or the hunger of the Thalmor, that will not be satiated until all of Tamriel belongs to the Dominion. No, the Emperor hands it all over on a silver platter. Jarl Ulfric may not be the ideal leader, but we don't live in an ideal time. If one ever existed…" Here Drevas shook himself, from his rant, and glared at the paling Saerlund. "Now by the nine, just drink the bloody potion."

Cowed, at least momentarily, by the Dunmer's rant Saerlund quickly popped the cork and downed the potion, Drevas' eyes following the swallowing motion. Quickly after he was down the mage swiped the glass bottle out of his hand and stalked out of the room. He was so irritated, both with himself for losing his temper and the noble for his ignorant provocations, that he didn't even bother with the pointless diagnostic spells. In his hurry Drevas barely managed to nod at the housecarl to signal that the job was done.

"What troubles you child? Drevas was startled by the voice of his master, robes whipping around, as wide red eyes met the amused face of the court wizard. _Even for a mer, I am not that young._ The apprentice had to choke down a retort as he continued to calm down, merely shaking his head.

"Nothing master. I just finished giving Saerlund his treatment." The bosmer merely hummed in response, her eyes roam his form. Drevas stood as he still as good under the older elf's gaze, worrying at the inside of his cheek. The dark elf knew Wylandriah was smarter and more put together, than she let on to the citizens of Riften, and he didn't want her gaze to catch anything out of the ordinary. While the Bosmer may have been able to help him, the dark elf wasn't sure he had reached the stage where he needed it. Finally the wood elf sighed and nodded.

"Very well then, as my workshop seems to have managed to stay clean today, I Guess I can let you go. There isn't anything else for you to do here Drevas." Swallowing thickly, the Dunmer gave a little bow in return, swallowing thickly. Brushing down his robes, as Wylandriah turned away and strode into her room for a moment, Drevas collected himself before deciding to head back to the Bunkhouse.

As soon as he entered the establishment Drevas was greeted by Svana rushing over a panicked look on her face. "Oh Drevas, thank the Divines you're here." The dark elf's face started to pale, as he anticipated the women's next hurried words. "It's your mother. She's, well she's acting like a lunatic. Fortunately Aunt Haelga had to… go out." The Nord's nose twisted with disgust "But I don't know how much more time you have to calm her down." Drevas rubbed at his neck exhausted already from the day, but he nodded grimacing. Steeling his shoulders back the Dunmer murmured a brusque thank you to the women before heading to the room.


End file.
